Sometimes You've Just Gotta Cry
by Silver Sparklze
Summary: (About as angsty as I can get, which isn't very.) Ginny gives Harry 'The Talk' (on emotions, not b&b)ONESHOT


**Sometimes You've Just Gotta Cry.**

_Silver Sparklze_

* * *

"Bye Ginny, see you after the hols. Have a good Christmas." Hermione and Ginny exchanged a hug.

"Bye, Herm." She turned to her brother, Ron, and hugged him too. "Don't take advantage of the mistletoe _too_ much." She whispered in his ear.

Ron blushed, and mock-glared at her. "Are you sure you don't want to come home for Christmas, Gin?" He asked.

Ginny shook her head. "No, Ron." She said, "I don't. I just…I want some time by myself, you know?"

Ron nodded sympathetically, looking and acting – for once – far older than his sixteen years. "I know."

Ron and Hermione hopped onto the Hogwarts Express, and Ginny waved them off, before heading up to the castle, the small bag she'd been going to take home for Christmas in hand. Deciding not to go home had been a split second decision, but she didn't regret it, even if she _would_ miss out on Mum's homemade mince pies.

* * *

Trudging through the snow, Ginny fell to introspection, as she'd often done this past year.

She wasn't an ordinary witch by any means. For one thing, she had more siblings than most girls her age had, and for another, she was a former supporter of Voldemort. Of course she hadn't _meant_ to support Voldemort. That was just silly. She'd only been 11 at the time, and…well…she had to admit, rather stupid.

If only she'd listened to her father's advice the countless times he'd told her that if you couldn't see something's brain, more often than not, it was not to be trusted.

But she'd been so full of herself, so sure that she knew what she was doing. It was only a _diary_, after all. What harm could writing in a _diary_ do?

But it had done a lot of harm. Tom Riddle, better known as Lord Voldemort or You-Know-Who, had lived inside that diary. Well, not _lived_, really, but his sixteen-year-old self had.

* * *

Ginny shuddered to think what might have happened, had she not managed to hold out as long as she had. And even then, it was more due to pure dumb luck than any strength on her part that no one had been killed.

* * *

One of Ginny's least/most favourite memories was how Harry had looked that night, helping her up. He'd been covered in blood and slime, and her heart had almost stopped beating when she'd seen him. If she'd felt bad before that incident, thinking about the people who'd been hurt (and she'd never remembered for long, either Tom had made sure of that, or she simply hadn't been able to handle it), it was nothing to how she felt now. _Harry_ could have been _killed_!

* * *

Ginny sighed, pushing open the heavy front doors of Hogwarts, and walking inside. She was tired. Just thinking about that first year hurt her more than she could ever imagine, and yet…things had only gotten worse.

* * *

She'd dreaded her second year, dreaded having to look at the people she'd hurt so badly with her stupidity, dreaded having to look Harry in the eyes and see the pity that would surely be there. But what had been in store for her was that much more dreadful.

She'd been invisible again. Harry, Hermione, and Ron had gone on their little adventures, and she'd been left in the dust.

Even worse, when she'd first seen Harry, there was no pity. No shame, no condescension. Instead, there was the ultimate insult, like Harry, instead of just stabbing her in the chest and leaving it at that, had decided to make it extra painful, and had twisted the knife, then rubbed salt in the wound. When she'd looked into Harry's eyes, there'd been nothing. No recognition at all. It was as if she'd never met him.

She still didn't know the full story behind that year, and Sirius Black, she'd asked and asked, but was always put off, Ron and Hermione exchanging looks they thought she didn't see. 'She's too young,' those looks said, 'and too innocent.'

* * *

Ginny hated those looks most of all. She was fifteen for Merlin's sake! She wasn't a child any longer…she hadn't been a child since her first year at Hogwarts.

That thought was sobering, as were most of her thoughts nowadays. She just couldn't seem to find a thing to be happy about anymore.

But if she'd thought her first two years were bad, she was in for a shock. Her third and fourth had been ghastly.

* * *

Her third year had started off all right, although the summer bit before Harry arrived had definitely been the best. She'd really enjoyed having Bill and Charlie home for the summer; she didn't see enough of them. They'd both been so loud and happy it'd been hard for Ginny not to be Happy too.

Then Harry had come, and everything had been different again. Mum fussed over Harry, which was ok, he needed to be fussed over. Dad was, once again, anxious to know anything and everything about muggles. Him and matches…honestly.

* * *

_Ugh, _Ginny thought, _I sound like Hermione_. Thinking about Hermione reminded her of Ron. He was all over Harry, too. 'Harry, come play Quidditch with us. Harry, let's go degnome the garden so Mum won't get angry at us for eating a whole batch of chocolate muffins.' As if Harry could do any wrong in Mum's eyes.

Fred and George liked to spend time with him of course. They all played Quidditch together, while Ginny stayed inside and listened patiently to Mum's lectures on the proper ways to bake pies and how important it was to get the right type of baking powder.

Bill and Charlie loved him too. He'd saved Ginny's life, and that was enough for them right from the beginning. But the fact that Harry was…Harry helped.

Thing was, and Ginny knew this was selfish; she'd kind of wanted her two eldest brothers to pay attention to _her_. She hadn't seen them for _ages_, and here they were spending most of their time with Harry.

And dealing with Hermione, who, while spending time with Ginny, _obviously_ wanted to go talk to her _real_ friends, had been torture.

Then the Quidditch World Cup…Ginny shivered, and drew he cloak tightly around her. She still didn't like to think of it, even though she'd seen worse just last year.

Once she'd gotten to Hogwarts she'd spent the entire third year counting down the days until she could go home again, and be back in the lounge room, [1] in her own little corner in her own little chair. She wanted to listen to life in The Burrow, heck; she even wanted to listen to the Ghoul in the Attic!

The Tri Wizard Tournament had nearly killed her. Watching as Harry repeatedly risked his life, watching as all _four_ contestants risked their lives for 1,000 Galleons and a _stupid_ trophy.

And the Yule Ball…he'd asked her! Oh, he'd asked her to go with him, and it had been the best moment of her whole life! And she'd turned him down, _how _could she have done that, turned _him_ down?

_I had to, though, _Ginny thought miserably, _couldn't have turned around to Neville and said, 'sorry, Nev, but Harry's asked me, so find someone else.' That would have been mean. And Neville wouldn't have deserved it _ever_. He's never been anything but nice to me._

And then the last task…Ginny realised she was crying, and scrubbed the tears away angrily. She didn't want to return to the Common Room looking like an overripe tomato with hair. Besides, she'd wasted enough tears over that stupid task anyway.

But…but last year…Ginny had to stifle another sob. Crying was well and good in its own place, but she was walking down a corridor and there were Slytherins walking down it, and she didn't want to get teased.

Oops, it was Draco and his cronies. She might have been better off if she was crying.

"Well if it isn't the little Weaslette." Draco sneered.

Before Ginny had time to think, words came flying out of her mouth. "Draco, you do realise that weasels and ferrets are related, don't you?" Without waiting for a reply – mainly because she was too scared – Ginny pushed passed him, and continued on her way.

* * *

Last year…inevitably, Ginny's mind returned to its previous musings. The Department of Mysteries…the prophecy that had been broken before Harry knew what it said…poor Harry…no. She wasn't allowed to think like that. Harry didn't want her pity.

_Harry doesn't even know you exist._ A snide voice in Ginny's head said. A voice that sounded like Tom.

_Yes he does._ Ginny retorted. _Otherwise he wouldn't have saved me in my first year. And-_ She intercepted another snarky comment, _he also noticed me in my third year, and last year. He'd be hard pressed _not_ to notice me these days. I don't let him not notice me._

The voice in her head gave something that sounded remarkably like a snort.

Unwilling to think about the fact that she'd just lost an argument with herself, Ginny continued on her way to the Tower.

* * *

When Ginny got to the Common Room she found something she didn't expect. Harry was sitting by the window, with a look of excruciating pain in his face – the fact that his jaw was clenched so tightly that you can see each and every vein, and the bone gleaming white under too-pale skin kind of gave her a hint – and his eyes screwed up tight as he laboured for breath.

Her first instinct was to go straight over there and ask him if he was all right. But then she took a closer look. She knew that expression.

It was one she'd seen many times before in the mirror, back before she'd known it was ok to cry when you needed to, before Mum had given her The Talk…not the one about the Birds and the Bees, but the one about feelings.

The one that said it was ok to let your feelings out, you didn't have to keep them bottled up like so much juice.

Maybe Harry needed to have that talk too.

Slowly, making very little noise, but enough that surely he'd notice she was there, Ginny moved over to stand beside him. A flick of her wand summoned one of the many big, over-stuffed red armchairs that were scattered around the Common Room, and she perched on the arm of it. "You know," she said softly, "it's ok to feel."

Harry jumped, and looked at her in shock. "Ginny. I didn't see you." He said dully, his face trying to remake itself into the pleasant mask he usually wore.

"You never do." Ginny replied with a shrug. "But stop that." She reached up to touch him, and he flinched away. Her hand dropped to lie in her lap, and she stared at it. "Sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean…" A shudder wracked through his body, and Ginny realised exactly how hard it was for Harry to remain in control.

"After the Chamber," she said quietly, every word clear and precise in the bright room, "I had nightmares. Every night, I relived the things I'd done, the things I'd said. How badly I'd hurt the people I loved."

"Ginny it wasn't your fault." Harry said earnestly, "It was Voldemort, he-"

Ginny held up a hand. "I know it wasn't my fault." She said. "But that doesn't change how I feel, knowing I put everyone in danger. It doesn't matter if it was my fault in the end. I allowed it to happen. I was stupid, and my stupidity nearly cost my friends their lives."

Ginny paused, aware she'd gotten slightly off-topic. "I had so many nightmares," she continued, "and I was afraid to reach out. Afraid that I really _was_ a cowardly little nobody like Tom said. Afraid that I _didn't_ really belong in Gryffindor. I didn't say anything to Mum or anyone else. I kinda thought it was my lot. I'd been an idiot, and now I was paying for it. Gradually, over that summer, I lost a lot of weight. I had trouble sleeping, too. I became really sick.

"Mum…" Ginny had to stop again; her eyes were burning. She shoved the tears back. Just a little longer. Harry needed to hear this. "Mum finally had a talk with me." She continued. "She said they were all worried about me, and all that kind of junk, coz I was making myself so ill and all. Then she told me that she used to do it as well. Bottle all her emotions up because she didn't want to let them out."

Harry raised an eyebrow at that.

"I know," Ginny said with a wry smile, "_my_ mother used to bottle up her feelings. Scary, huh.

"Anyway. She said that one day, these girls were teasing her, and she just snapped. Broke the ringleader's nose. Mum said it was so scary. All her emotions just came out, and she couldn't control herself. She said it's not healthy.

"And she was right. I've never talked about it before…the Chamber was too new, too raw, and now everyone seems to have forgotten, you know? But I cried after that, I let my emotions run wild. I broke this lamp that I've had since I was two, chucked it against a wall. Mum didn't even get mad." She shook her head in amazement. "She just smiled, and gave me a chocolate chip biscuit and a cup of tea.

"We had a long chat that night. She said…" Ginny took a deep breath here, "she said sometimes you've just gotta cry." She risked looking up, and saw that Harry was staring at her. "That's what I'm saying too. Sometimes, you've just gotta cry, Harry. It helps. Not much at the start, but it does help. And over time…you never forget, don't think that. The pain'll always be there. But over time…it fades. You can live with it. Sometimes you don't even realise it's there. You're too busy feeling other things. So yeah…" The tears that had been threatening to spill over fell then, and, to her horror, Ginny began to cry in front of _him._

Gentle arms surrounded her, and someone's cheek was pressed against her hair. "It's ok, Ginny." A hoarse voice said.

That was all Ginny needed to hear, to know that Harry was crying too.

_Fin_.

[1] Stolen from Roger and Hammerstein's Cinderella with Brandy, Whoopi Goldberg and Whitney Houston.


End file.
